


Of Curiosity and Closets

by Boreas_frostheart



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:50:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boreas_frostheart/pseuds/Boreas_frostheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[First lines:] Carl found himself inside the closet of his father's room at their current shelter. He couldn't help himself. Curiosity had possessed him the previous night when he had witnessed Daryl Dixon enter his father's room in the middle of the night. The entire day he could only wonder. And so here he was, in the closet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Curiosity and Closets

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this awhile back... It's uh sort of voyeurism? Rickyl smutty goodness. It's a little weird. I don't know why this story came to me like this but it did.. I probably could have just written this from Daryl or Rick's POV but for some reason my trash brain conceived it this way. This was also written before Eugene was seen watching Abraham and Rosita have relations. I suppose I could have sat here and rewrote it to be him peeking in on this lovely coupling but I decided to live with my demons. Besides, there's much stranger things here on AO3, I almost feel like this is incredibly innocent by comparison. This is edited solely by me, so probably not very well. I seem to like commas. This is also my first fic in MANY years, hope I don't come off as too rusty. Enjoy!

Carl found himself inside the closet of his father's room at their current shelter. He couldn't help himself. Curiosity had possessed him the previous night when he had witnessed Daryl Dixon enter his father's room in the middle of the night. The entire day he could only wonder. And so here he was, in the closet.

  
Carl had pretended to go to bed early; a crumpled pile of blankets lay in his place. He wasn't worried. If his father inspected him too closely and found Carl missing from his bed, the sheriff's first instinct would be to run outside looking for him. At that point Carl just had to leave the room and act innocently when they found him. Even so, he would much rather feed his damned curiosity.

  
He watched through blinded doors and his vision depended rather heavily on some lanterns they had found in the house. They all had enjoyed having some light at night, perhaps a little greedily. Even Carl had fallen asleep with one still burning next to him, being wasteful. The house appeared well stocked though, as if the neighborhood was used to rolling blackouts or something.

  
First, his father came in and sat on the bed looking actually well rested. They had come upon some nice homes during some heavy snow about a week ago. The houses were so well stocked, they decided they could stay while winter did its nasty business. They all split up and (weather allowing) often did runs into a nearby town for anything during the days but at night they went to their chosen homes and stayed warm. There hadn't been any trouble in a while, and the walkers were often frozen, and they actually began to relax, just a little; it was pretty amazing what a few good nights of sleep did for a person accustomed to so little.

  
It was nice to see his father look a little more lively. Out in the world, their spirits were so easily dried up, and it showed on all of their faces and in the way they walked.

  
Carl watched his father undress to his undergarments and climb into the bed. The closet door was constructed of thin, slanted wooden blinds. Carl could only see properly from a certain angle. He watched his father for awhile. Nothing happened aside from Rick falling asleep. Carl began to wonder if his glimpse of Daryl the previous night was a onetime occurrence, nothing to get so wildly curious about as Carl had. Still, he stood in the closet and watched as his father fell asleep. At the very least, he knew he was safe and he could easily leave in the morning, or maybe he would brave sneaking out before, but he wasn't confident any slight noise would stir his father from his slumber, ever the vigilant protector.

  
Then.. there it was: a soft knocking. Carl's heart slammed in his chest harder than any walker had caused it to, at least recently, when he heard the knock on the door and Daryl entered. Carl began to panic; he could handle being caught by his dad, but Daryl? He wouldn't know what to expect. It didn't matter; his window to leave had just closed, unless Daryl were to leave. Carl looked around the ransacked closet and slowly calmed himself enough to continue watching.

  
Rick had stirred. Carl hadn't been watching but he was pretty sure his father hadn't awoken from his slumber until Daryl had already entered the room.

  
"Rick," Daryl nodded. Carl was surprised to see Daryl was still wearing daytime clothes. Did he sleep like that? What made him so sure Daryl was here to sleep? Carl shook his thoughts from his mind as Daryl sat down on the opposing side his dad lay on.

  
"Hello Daryl," Rick responded, his voice still weighed down by sleep.

  
Not much happened that night, truth be told. Daryl did lay down next to Rick and they both simply fell asleep. Carl sat down and dozed off shortly after they did. He just had to wake up when they did so he could leave as soon as possible. Carl was pretty sure he'd be fine. The closet wasn't entirely comfortable, but it wasn't any worse than the outdoors.

  
Carl's curiosity peaked often, but not every single night. They continued to be lucky on supply runs, and they were staying put through the crappy weather. They might even be fine stalling for a month or two. It certainly helped that Daryl occasionally brought home whole deer from the woods. The houses were stocked with bottled water. They melted the clean snow for bathwater. It really worked for them. And so, in this comfort, Carl chose to sleep in a bed some nights, and in a closet on others.

  
Most nights started out the same, his father undressing and climbing into bed. It varied in time, but Daryl always showed up. Most of the time Daryl didn't sleep under more than one blanket. Carl knew the feeling; it was strange to sleep under a bed of heavy blankets and sink into a pretty decent mattress, as they all had been doing at night. It almost felt too luxurious. The ground was almost more comfortable; how strange.

  
Something was definitely up between them, Carl decided. He sensed the attraction between them, but it seemed like they refused to acknowledge it. Carl had a lot of time to think about it and he decided it wasn't hard to understand why they'd be so shy about it. It was extremely likely that neither of these men had thought of bedding another man prior to the apocalypse. But even then, there was something different between them. But it wasn't hard for Carl to grasp: to his father, Daryl was just Daryl, and to Daryl, Rick was Rick. It was slim pickings out there, too. Their own group was much more a close family than anything. It wasn't insane to imagine two men might find comfort in one another. But their problem lay in who made the first move. Somehow Carl doubted either ever would. They would just dance around it forever, both too manly to listen to their feelings. It was weird to think of his father as an alpha male in this particular context, but it didn't mean it wasn't true. Daryl was no different. This could go on forever.

  
Most nights, his father and the hunter just talked and laughed. It was really nice to hear his father laugh so earnestly; a sound Carl hadn't heard in so long. There was no time for silly conversations out there. Only survival. It was a pleasant break from the usual to focus on the small things like they once used to. One night, Carl listened to them talk about the differences between Poptarts and Toaster Strudels. Carl had completely forgotten about those. In the beginning they found Poptarts here and there but Toaster Strudels were a forgotten memory. That's what made it funny, Carl thought. Nitpicking something they'd never eat again, and no matter what they said about the artificial pastries, good or bad, if either were placed in front of them, they'd gladly eat them. Carl found the thought amusing and enjoyed the sound of the two men chortling.

  
Early one morning, Carl awoke in the closet with a crick in his neck. He looked out into the room to see daylight just beginning to peek through the windows and both men lay quite closely to one another. When Carl stood in the closet to stretch just a little, he took notice of the fact that not only had both men found their ways to the center of the king sized mattress, but also that Daryl had placed one hand firmly on his snoring father's waist. A small smile twitched at the corner of Carl's mouth. Perhaps there was hope for the two yet.

  
Later that very day, they had gone out to hunt with Daryl, to learn from him more than anything. The damndest thing happened, as it tends to, when a frozen walker fell from a tree onto Daryl, narrowly missing Rick as well. The person had committed suicide, hanging themselves rather high up in the tree, perhaps out of fear of being eaten, even after death, and the frost must've damaged the rope it hung by. It was of little issue, since it was frozen, but it had caused Daryl to lose his footing and his ribs took a blow from a large jagged stone. Carl stabbed the walker through the temple as Rick helped Daryl back up.

  
They left immediately after that. Daryl didn't admit to being in any pain and even led the way back. They arrived back to their little home around twenty minutes later, as the sun was setting.

  
Carl followed them into the kitchen where Rick grabbed at Daryl's shirt the moment he put down his crossbow.

  
"Hey! Ger'off!" Daryl jerked backwards, into one of the counters. Rick raised his hands away from his affronted friend as if he were suddenly held at gunpoint.

  
"Daryl, please, the fall looked bad." his father spoke softly.

  
"M'fine."

  
Carl decided to leave them alone. He walked past them and opened the cupboard they had filled with canned goods. Carl grabbed a can of corn, a spoon and left.

  
That night, Daryl appeared sooner than usual; his father had just put on a clean shirt and climbed into bed.

  
Daryl had finally chosen to wear something more appropriate to sleeping: some plaid boxers and a sleeveless tank. Rick's eyes never left Daryl as Daryl lowered himself onto the bed, laying flat on his back, an arm draped across his torso.

  
"How's your ribs?" Rick asked quietly.

  
"Rick, I'm fine," Daryl responded, but there was noanger, like earlier.

  
"Well," Rick said as he sat up and turned toward the hunter. "You're showin' me then."

  
"Hey there, officer," Daryl warned.

  
Rick placed an arm across the archer's collar bones and used his other arm to lift Daryl's shirt. Daryl held his hands up to his sides in surrender for a moment before he shrugged off Rick's arm. Rick looked possessed as he firmly placed his arm back where it had been and pulled Daryl's shirt back down. Carl didn't get to see the bruise; the lighting and angle worked together to be as uncomplimentary as possible. Daryl was tough though, inside and out and it wouldn't surprise Carl to learn there was no bruise. Whatever was there, his father didn't seem alarmed.

  
Carl's heart started racing at this point. He really hadn't thought this through. Spying was messed up to begin with, but this was also his father. And another man. What if they finally broke down their alpha male barriers? Could Carl really watch that? Shit. He decided all he could do for now is cover his eyes if he needed to. Tomorrow he'd have to question his shameful curiosity.

  
"It's jus' me, Daryl," Rick said simply. Their eyes met as he removed his arm from Daryl's chest and collapsed to the side of the hunter. Almost hesitantly, Rick rested his head on Daryl's shoulder. Daryl actually seemed to relax.

  
They laid still for so long Carl began to think they had fallen asleep. He was proven wrong though when Daryl sat himself up on his elbow to gaze down at Rick. Rick moved back and looked up at Daryl.

  
Daryl sighed, sounding defeated. "Rick.. I ain't gay."

  
"Neither am I," Rick replied.

  
"It's jus' you," Daryl echoed.

  
"It's just me," Rick agreed.

  
And it finally happened. Daryl bent in to kiss his father and Rick didn't hesitate to meet Daryl's lips.

  
Carl looked away for a moment. He found that he wanted to look, and that was slightly problematic, but wasn't this what he had signed up for?. It didn't bother him, not yet. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't look at Daryl every now and then. Even back at the prison, Carl could remember eyeing Daryl almost as often as he looked at Beth. He wouldn't even consider the way he looked at Daryl to be sexual, it was honestly harmless. The hunter was simply impressive to behold. He felt something one might describe as envy towards the man's lean, muscular body, hoping one day he would be as sculpted and lithe as the hunter. Overall he really couldn't, and didn't, blame his father but his father was what made this weird. Any other man (or woman) with Daryl would make Carl feel less ashamed ...but it was what it was. He did know he should let them have their privacy. He wouldn't like to find anyone watching him be intimate with another person. But he was already here, deep into this strange addiction, and he wasn't about to fess up. He might as well just look until he couldn't anymore. He returned his attention to the two men.

  
Daryl's movements were slower and more cautious than Rick's even though it had been Daryl who had initiated this encounter. Rick was far more enthusiastic, first grabbing Daryl's face and then slipping his fingers into the hunter's brown locks as they continued to press their mouths together. It was mildly uncomfortable seeing his father in this way, but Carl tried to focus on Daryl more.

  
Carl observed Daryl's right hand resting on Rick's left hip and it stayed there for awhile, thumb rubbing in slow circles; was Daryl nervous or was he just really focused on kissing? Carl could only guess. Suddenly, Daryl shifted his entire body so that he was on all fours above his father, their mouths finally apart.

  
"Here, take off yer shirt," Daryl sat up on his knees, giving room to help pull off Rick's shirt. Once it was off, Daryl loosely straddled Rick and leaned back in. He hovered his lips over Rick's almost teasingly. Rick responded by grabbing Daryl's hips and pulling them in, bucking his own into them as they met.

  
A groan escaped Daryl's lips, "Rick."

  
Soon they became a tangled mess of elbows and knees, hands and feet, and a pair of hungry mouths. They were silent lovers, and they playfully fought for dominance. One second, Daryl would be on top, the next, Rick would be sure to fix that.

  
Carl watched them tumble around the king sized mattress before finally settling with Daryl on top. Their mouths broke apart and Daryl began to kiss at Rick's bearded jawbone. He kissed his way down while Rick breathed heavily and pawed at the archer's chest, even being so bold as to place a hand underneath the fabric of Daryl's shirt to touch his bare skin. Carl was no expert, but he knew Daryl was particularly keen on keeping attention away from his torso, and he knew that by allowing Rick to touch him there demonstrated how great their trust was. Daryl stopped at Rick's collarbone. He glanced up at the older man and made sure to meet Rick's eyes before baring his teeth and gently biting the sheriff's neck.

  
The sound that escaped his father's mouth was so intense and primal and totally not meant for Carl to hear. It hit his ears wrong, but instead of feeling disgust Carl found himself merely hoping one day someone would help him make such a sound.

  
"Fuck, Daryl," Rick grabbed Daryl's face back to his and their teeth clinked together as Rick's hands wandered to the elastic band of Daryl's boxer shorts.

  
Daryl pulled away.

  
By this point, he was straddled across Rick's torso and still as clothed as he had been when he arrived. He sat straight and looked down at Rick.

  
"It's just me, Daryl." Rick's voice sounded heavier. Perhaps, Carl thought, that was what lust sounded like.

  
Daryl nodded but didn't budge. Rick's hands returned to the band of Daryl's shorts.

  
Carl almost expected this to end right then - Daryl would shove off and they'd be still for the night, Carl would sleep and leave the closet as soon as humanly possible the following morning. He would spend the next day wondering what had possessed him to be such a pervert. ...But there was such a thrill in it, he hated to admit it, and honestly, the only thing that felt wrong about it was the fact that it was his father - he didn't plan on making a hobby out of sneakily watching people have sex, but he couldn't deny the thrill in watching someone that didn't know they were being watched.

  
Rick's hand lay still at Daryl's waistband, their eyes were locked. Rick was waiting, that much was clear. If Carl had blinked even a second sooner, he would have missed the signal: Daryl very faintly nodded.

  
And just like that, Carl got an eyeful of something he couldn't admit to having been prepared to see, despite knowing what he was doing every time he snuck into the closet. Rick's hand slid into Daryl's shorts and pulled out Daryl's cock. It was already hard and quite thick; he couldn't look away. He was able to forget, for a short while at least, that it was his father's hand slowly rolling up and down the shaft.

  
Daryl moaned and curled over, catching himself on his hands to each side of Rick's head. Rick looked up and locked eyes with Daryl.

  
"It's jus' me," Rick whispered.

  
"Shut up," Daryl responded before closing his eyes and mewling. Daryl seemed to realize he was making an incredibly pitiful, although also erotic, sound and stopped himself short. Rick chuckled softly.

  
Suddenly, Rick stopped his hand and grabbed Daryl's hips and in one fluid movement, Daryl was on his back and Rick was on all fours above Daryl, staring down. To say Daryl looked surprised was an understatement but the look quickly disappeared when Rick sat back on his knees and pulled off Daryl's underwear.

  
Carl was pretty sure that of all the things he had done since the beginning of the apocalypse, _this_ was what bought him his ticket to hell. It felt so wrong, but he couldn't look away. If he closed his eyes, he would still hear them, and he would imagine things much more perverse than what he was seeing, he was sure of it. Knowing full well he wouldn't be able to meet neither his father's nor Daryl's eyes for a very long time, he gazed on and watched through the wooden slats as his father lowered himself once more and wrapped a hand around Daryl's cock.

  
Daryl's hands were helplessly grabbing at the sheets, stilled only when he had fabric bunched into his fists; his heels kept slipping flat as he continuously dug them into the mattress. He was ... _writhing_ , that was the word, it had taken Carl a moment to place it. Daryl was writhing underneath Rick.

  
"Been wanting this for so long, Dare. I'll admit I'm a little scared." Hearing a sentence formed after all the soft noises the men had been making jarred Carl from his focus on Daryl: his clenched hands, his quiet gasps, his body still seemed wound tight, ready to pounce onto his feet and take off at any sign of disturbance from the outside world. But even those sharp edges were ebbing away, slowly melting into the mattress as Rick continued to lull him into ecstasy.

  
"Shuddup," Daryl said again. "S'okay."

  
Carl could understand why his father would be hesitant, even with Daryl writhing beneath him and apparently that was all Rick needed to hear from the hunter. Carl saw it coming, his father dipping his head lower to put his mouth around -- oh god, Carl closed his eyes. He heard Daryl moan louder than he had all night. Carl's eyes shot open, not entirely prepared to see what he saw.

  
Rick had one hand cupped around Daryl's balls, and his mouth around the head of Daryl's cock.

  
"Fuck." Daryl gasped; he unclenched one of his hands from the sheets and ran his fingers through the strands of Rick's hair.

  
Rick slowly moved his mouth further down Daryl's shaft and soon fell into a rhythm. When his mouth was at Daryl's head, his hand would leave Daryl's balls and stroke the shaft as Rick's mouth moved downward again. It was unnecessary for Carl to note that even though Daryl was clearly enjoying the sensations, Rick's movements were somewhat rigid, and unpracticed. This was clearly a first for Rick, maybe even a first for Daryl. Even so, Rick was focused and even moaned nearly every time he took Daryl's cock as far as he could into his mouth.

  
It was hard to gauge time with Carl's heart bounding so hard in his chest that he was honestly surprised the hunter's ears didn't hear it, but after an indiscernible amount of time, Daryl spoke, his voice wrecked.

  
"Rick, h-hold on."

  
Daryl perched himself up on an elbow and gazed down at Rick. Carl was suddenly terrified Daryl could in fact hear his heart and knew there was a perverted sneak in the closet only five or six feet away from the sex addled men.

  
"What is it?" Rick whispered, looking up, meeting Daryl's gaze. Daryl's reddened cock fell to Daryl's stomach and twitched.

  
"You..." was all Daryl said before he pulled Rick up so their faces were level once more. Daryl very slowly, slid both sets of fingers into Rick's curly dark hair and tugged him forward.

  
They were kissing again. It sounded sloppy, wet, but also desperate and heartfelt. They began to roll around again, another playful fight for dominance as they mouthed at each other's lips and necks.

  
Before long, their positions settled and they had switched as Daryl had probably intended. Daryl was on top of Rick, only by this point, after all the tumbling around, the angle had changed slightly. The men were turned only a little, but it was enough to cause Daryl's shadow to drape so deeply over Rick, Carl could hardly make out his father's face, or much of anything for that matter. Their intimacy made private after all.

  
Carl was grateful for the lighting, or lack thereof, to say the least. He was definitely getting some sort of unnatural, unholy high from his spying, but he was not ready to see his father's hardened manhood by any stretch. It was clear what Daryl was doing, however. Carl didn't need to actually see their cocks to know what was happening. Daryl's movements and the sounds that came out of the both of them made it quite clear.

  
Daryl glanced down at Rick and after a few moments of the two men just gazing at one another, Daryl finally made what was likely to be a bold move for him by reaching for Rick's underwear and palming at Rick's erection. Rick groaned loudly. Moments later, Daryl pulled Rick's erection out, with Rick assisting by pushing down his undershorts several inches. Daryl turned, the silhouette of his cock briefly visible to Carl, and tugged at Rick's underwear until it was off. Daryl flung them away, they landed just a foot or so away from Carl.

  
Daryl licked his hand and then, unsatisfied, spat onto it a few times before reaching down and grabbing both of their cocks. One of Rick's hands had been visibly laying outside the line of shadow before it joined Daryl in stroking their cocks together.

  
They moved together, moaned, and Carl watched as both men curled and uncurled their toes while moaning softly.

  
"Oh fuck, Daryl," Rick huffed as his back arched upwards, briefly lifting Daryl up a few inches before dropping again. Rick's toes curled, his breath hitched and it was clear what had happened. It only took a few more heavy breaths before Daryl followed suit and collapsed on top of Rick, his ass high and almost directly in Carl's line of vision.  


  
Both men lay still, their breathing still heavy. Daryl soon twisted himself off Rick and onto his side, and Rick turned to face him.

  
Carl sat down in the closet, careful to not make a single sound, which wasn't hard as he was quite practiced at this by now. Finally, it was done. He could rest. He could stop coming into the closet at night. But that didn't stop a million other questions from flying through his head. Aside from questioning his own depraved perversions (which by now he was able to silence easily) what did this mean? Would Daryl and his dad be ...together? Would they just continue to have a nighttime relationship?

  
All Carl knew for sure was he had no plans to do this again. He would allow the men their privacy from now on. He also knew that if this wasn't a case of curiosity killed the cat, he didn't know what was.

**Author's Note:**

> I have vague ideas for another chapter or two, but for now this will be considered a one-shot.


End file.
